


The Tutor, the Medallion and the Rose: a CinderDoctor Tale

by Caedmon



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (it's not as ridiculous as it sounds), Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Jack is a fairy godmother, Nobility, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-25 22:26:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6212578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Smythe is missing a good portion of his memories. All he remembers from the first fourteen years of his life is screaming misery, destruction and fire. And, when he is found in tattered clothing on the side of the road, his only possessions are a small satchel full of papers that no one can read and a medallion around his neck that no one recognizes.</p><p>Now, he is tutoring the two daughters of Pete Tyler, the wealthy Baron of the Powell Estate, and he finds himself completely, helplessly in love with the elder daughter, Dame Rose. </p><p>What can a simple, bookish man who lives in a room at the Tardis Inn possibly have to offer the beautiful Dame Rose? How could he ever hope to capture the heart of a noblewoman?</p><p>A <i>very</i> loose retelling of the fairy tale, Cinderella.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galaxxyfreak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxxyfreak/gifts).



> This is a gift for Brilliantly_Strange who requested a Ten/Rose Nobility AU with the Doctor being known as John and Jimmy Stone acting as if he owns Rose. She also asked for this nearly two months ago and it's _still_ not done, but here are the first three chapters, and I'm going to update weekly (probably on the weekends) until I get the rest of it up! 
> 
> A few notes:  
> Beta'd by tenroseforeverandever, but all mistakes are mine. In fact, I own nothing but the mistakes. Those are all mine. All of them.  
> Kudos and comments are the lifeblood of the muse. Thank you for them.  
> Come say hi! caedmonfaith.tumblr.com
> 
> tw - Jimmy Stone is an absolute _dick_ in this story. He truly does act as if he owns Rose. That begins in Chapter 3.

Once upon a time, long ago in a faraway land, there lived a man named John Smythe. John was a man of simple pleasures but uncommon intelligence... the sort of man who didn’t know the first thing about lawn games but was unbeatable at chess. He took more comfort in scholarly pursuits than the other kinds of sport that the other men of his acquaintance seemed to favor. 

While John walked through the town square with his nose stuck firmly in a book, only just managing to refrain from upsetting the apple cart (again) by running into it, most of the other men in town were engaged in a cricket match on the outskirts of town. While John was peering through his telescope and gazing at the stars, the other young men in town were busy waxing poetic about how the only stars they could see were in the eyes of the local barmaids, and crossing their fingers that skirts would lift for their efforts. While John was studying archaeology, descriptions and drawings of bits of pottery and coins, plotting their placements on maps and trying to determine when they could have been left there, the local soldiers were engaging in military drills, practicing the use of their weapons and plotting strategy in the (unlikely) event of war. 

It wasn’t that John couldn’t do those things. He was actually quite skilled at all of them - there was nothing that he _couldn’t_ do if he decided he wanted to. He was most certainly capable. He just didn’t want to. He wasn’t at all fond of chasing skirts; quick tumbles didn’t appeal to him, he had much more respect for women than all that. He found most sports to be apelike; who needed to compete for superiority anyway? Really, quite barbaric, that. And he had an outright, visceral dislike for anything and everything that had to do with the military and weaponry. Swords were intended to maim, wound and kill. Cannons were used to destroy and kill. A musket’s only purpose - its sole purpose - was to kill.

John Smythe was no killer, and did not condone violence. He wanted nothing to do with that, at all. He didn’t have the time nor the inclination to lend himself to violence of any sort. He was a man of knowledge, a man of learning. He could explain the dynamics of the royal court of Saxon and Celtic kings in the 11th century, or he could describe the intricate heliocentric orbit of the solar system in great detail. He could describe the process of photosynthesis and explain why apples fall to the ground. John had a firm understanding the workings of the world around him. 

For all his genius, however, there were some things that John Smythe could not understand, let alone explain. 

He couldn’t understand how a hideous soul could be hidden under a pleasant-looking exterior. 

He couldn’t understand why anyone would ever pair exquisite beauty with such hideousness. 

He couldn’t understand how someone could hold a rare, delicate flower in the palm of their hand and do anything but thank the good Lord above for blessing them with it. 

He couldn’t fathom how people could stand idly by and allow this to happen. 

But, perhaps more than anything, he didn’t know what on earth he was going to do about the fact that he was madly in love with Dame Rose Tyler. 

@>\--->\---

John Smythe couldn’t remember anything of the first half of his life. He was unable to recall anything of his past, beyond horrific scenes of fire and screaming, pain and crying all around him. Nothing more. His first clear memory was of finding himself, filthy and wearing ragged clothes, drifting down an unfamiliar road. 

A cart pulled up beside him and a woman jumped down, her curls barely constrained by her kerchief, and looked him and down. 

“Hello, sweetie,” she said. 

“‘Lo,” he’d replied. 

“What’s your name?” She’d asked kindly. 

He’d racked his brain, knowing that this was something that he should know but coming up with nothing. 

“I don’t remember,” he confessed.

“Well now, that won’t do, will it?” She said with a cheery smile and the careless air of someone whose confidence saw them through day-to-day life. “Alright then, we’ll call you ‘John’ for now. So, John, how old are you? Look to have seen about fourteen winters, I’d wager.”

He had felt his face redden beneath all the dirt and soot. He should know this, as well. He didn't. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I don’t know.”

She looked concerned for the first time. “Where are you coming from?”

“I dunno, ma’am. I don’t remember anything.”

“Nothing at all?” Her voice was a little softer now. 

“No ma’am.”

“Not even your age? Land of origin?”

“No, ma’am.”

She considered him for a moment, not too terribly long, then clapped her hands together in front of her, a decisive gesture. “Right! Well, John, if you don’t know where you’ve been you can’t know where you’re going, can you? Lucky for you, I know exactly where I’m going, and I have a seat right up here on my cart. So why don’t you hop up here with me and I’ll take you to my library. That’s it, up you go.” She held out her hand as if to guide him into her cart, then made her way to the other side, climbing into her seat. Taking the reins, she looked over at him and gave a bright smile. 

“By the by, my name is River. River Song. You and I are going to be fast friends, I think, John.”

She tapped the horses' backs with the reins and off they went, into John's future.

@>\--->\---

River’s home had indeed been attached to a library, and once there, she had given him clean clothes and shoved him towards a bath, announcing in no uncertain terms that he smelled like the dead. 

That had hurt for some reason, but he didn’t know why. 

She’d burned his clothes - everything save a leather satchel he’d had slung over his shoulder and a bronze medallion he’d been wearing around his neck. The medallion had had an emblem on it, an elaborate pattern of figure-eights, but inside the satchel there was nothing but papers written in an odd-looking manuscript made up of circles, dots and lines. John asked River if she knew what any of it meant, but River only shook her head. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but I’m afraid I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll be happy to research it for you, though,” she offered. 

John just shrugged. It seemed familiar to him, but he didn’t much care. He was warm, fed and River was nice to him. Looking back made no sense at the moment. He was content now, and now was enough. 

He was grateful when River bestowed a second name on him that wasn’t her own...he didn’t think he would have liked being known as “John Song.” Instead, she named him “John Smythe,” as it was the most common name she knew of. She gave him a warm smile when she told him of his new name, saying that it was only fitting for such an uncommon boy to have such a common name. It simply wouldn’t be fair otherwise, she said. 

River was the curator of the library, and she named John as her apprentice. This was a cover, however, a ruse set in motion by her. Young men who were not promised to a trade were snatched up by the military, and River refused to let John be taken away into a life she saw as barbaric. He was very grateful, for something about the military and a life of war was deeply, deeply unsettling to him, as well. He wanted nothing to do with it, and was thankful for the opportunity to stay behind and take over the library for River. 

“Oh, no,” she laughed. “You’ll not be taking over for me. One day, you’ll leave me and go to seek your own fortune, sweetie. Your future isn’t tied up in the basement of some library. No, no, not at all. You’re meant to live a _big_ life, a _full_ life, and that’s what I’m trying to give you. That’s why you’re getting your education. Books!” She cried, and tossed her hands in the air with a tome in each one. “Books are the greatest weapon one could ever have! Fight your battles with knowledge, sweetie!”

Young John was confused, but he did as he was instructed. He always did. His gratitude demanded it.

Over the many years he stayed with River, he grew in knowledge, reading constantly as he was encouraged to do. River even bestowed a nickname upon him for his studiousness, calling him “the little Doctor.” John took umbrage to the ‘little’ part, but he thought the ‘Doctor’ bit rather dashing, so he kept it. 

One day, after a dozen winters with River, she came to him. The Doctor closed the book on greco-roman history he’d been reading, leaving his finger in to mark his place. 

“What is it, River?”

“Sweetie, I’m dying.”

He just looked at her, dumbstruck. 

“You can’t be! Look at you! Healthy as a horse! Not that all horses are healthy, really, nor that you look like horse, of course, but…”

She held up a hand to stop him, as she had done so many times over so many years. “I am, Doctor. I’ll be gone by week’s end.”

He protested again, but she just raised her hand once more and he quieted. “It’s alright, sweetie. There’s a big world out there, and this is what I wanted for you. I want you to go have a big life. Run. See everything you’ve only read about. Travel. And when you’ve had all the fun you can stand, I want you to come back to this land," she indicated something in her hand, "The Powell estates. And you'll go to this place.” 

River handed him a slip of paper. On it was written the name of an inn.

“It's called the Tardis Inn. The innkeeper’s name is Clara," River continued. "Clara Oswald. She is my friend, and she has been for many years.”

“She can’t be that great of a friend. I’ve never met her,” he said, petulant.

River ignored him. “Clara has a message for you, from me. But she is under very strict instructions not to give that message to you until the right moment. She will know when that moment is. You won’t. I need you to trust her.”

“This is mad, River!” The Doctor cried out. “All of this! I can find a cure for whatever ails you! There has to be a way...just give me time!”

“Clara will have room for you and will help you find a job. You won’t be alone so long as you have her. She will be your friend and will help you along, just as I have.”

“I won’t go," he protested, angry at the tears pricking his eyes. "I won’t leave you.”

“You’ll leave in the morning, or I’ll chain you to the well in the town square and leave you there. Please don’t make me be mean to you, sweetie. Please let us part on good terms.”

The Doctor felt his eyes swell with tears. “Don’t send me away. I know I can heal you. I’m the Doctor, yeah? Let me research -”

River raised her hand again. “I already have,” she said. “Go now. Pack, then leave at first light. Go to Barcelona. Go see the glass pyramids. Go to the singing towers. See the things I never will. See them for me.”

“But what about the library?” He tried.

“Oh, it’ll be alright,” she pooh-poohed, looking around fondly. “Someone will take it up.” She looked back at him, her eyes stern. “But not you. You’re off to have mad adventures, sweetie.”

“I don’t want to go,” he whispered. 

“You have to,” she said, firm. “Now, enough of that. Go pack. You can leave in the morning. Why don’t you pack for warm weather and head to the tropics, yeah?” She gave him a bracing smile and a raise of the eyebrows, then patted his cheek. 

The next morning he hugged River goodbye and climbed onto the back of his horse, and old, faithful mare. He waved farewell to her - the only family he had ever known - and turned away from the place that had been his home for the last twelve years - nearly half of his life. 

Since he had come to live with River Song, he’d followed her direction. She had loved him and had always taken his thoughts and feelings into consideration, but when she had instructed him to do something, he’d done it with little to no questioning of her or wavering from the path set for him. 

She wanted him to go out and have a big life, but just now, riding on the back of his horse with shoulders slumped with grief and sorrow, he felt very small and alone. He didn’t want a big new life, he wanted his small, old life. He wanted the comfort of his little room in the library. Of his books. He wanted River and the familiar. 

For the first time, John Smythe completely disregarded River’s wishes and instead of travelling the world, he turned his horse and headed directly towards the Powell Estates and the Tardis Inn. 

River had said that this Clara was a friend and as long as she was around, he would never be alone. 

John didn't need a big life. John needed a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken so very, very, _very_ many liberties when writing this story. I realize that some characterizations are going to be off, which bothers me a great deal, but had to happen for the sake of the story. Please be aware of that going in, and of the fact that since this is both a fairy tale retelling and a fanfiction, there is very little that is going to be factually accurate in this, including the ranks of nobility. Let's all pretend this is happening in a land that I made up where everything I say is possible and true. 
> 
> Basically; I'm flying by the seat of my pants, here, folks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Clara, who directs him towards employment with the Tyler family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5/2/16 - spotted a continuity error and corrected it. :)

When John arrived at the Tardis Inn and introduced himself to Clara, he was much in the same state he’d been in when River had found him all those years ago. 

And just as River had done all those years ago, Clara brought him into her home and place of business, told him he stank and pushed him off towards a warm bath in the room at the top of the stairs. Then she brought up a tray and told him not to get used to being so outrageously spoiled, she had a business to run and couldn’t be seeing after his every need. But she would be available, in the morning, if he would like to talk.

John liked her at once, and was thankful to River for sending him here, even if he took the direct route getting there instead of the wibbly-wobbly one River had intended for him. 

He found Clara in the morning, and she smiled at the sight of him, putting one hand on her hip and propping herself on the broom. 

“Well, would you look what the cat dragged out of bed. If it isn’t the Doctor.”

John cringed, hearing the name that his friend had given him. He was too raw just yet to hear it.

“Just ‘John’, please.”

“Alright then, ‘just John’, fair enough. Kippers and eggs? Then we’ll talk about your new life, here in Powell.” 

John hadn’t realized he was hungry. “Yes, please.” 

@>\--->\---

Over breakfast, Clara explained his options to him. 

“River thought you’d be best suited to teaching, so I’ve been on the lookout for those types of positions,” she said. “There’s a school here, but it’s only open in the winter months, and winter is still some time away. The school is only open a few hours a day for a few days a week, and the pay is low. Still, that’s the only option unless you want to tutor the local gentry.”

John sighed. He’d never had any _un_ pleasant experiences with the nabobs when he worked with River in the library, but they weren’t always exactly the most friendly sort, either. But the only other option seemed to be poverty. 

He scrubbed his face in frustration. How did he ever land in this situation? 

There was no point in looking backwards. He’d not looked back when he was a child and had nothing but charred screaming in his memories. Now his memories were warmer, kinder, but there was still no use in looking behind. That life was gone, and there was no going back. He was expecting the messenger any day now, telling him that River had passed on. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was intolerable. He wanted to go home and be the curator of the library, the only home he’d ever known. But even as much as he’d disregarded her wishes that he travel and see the world before he settled into a life in Powell, he couldn’t go back home. She hadn’t wanted it and it wouldn’t be the same now, anyway. It would never be home. Never again.

This was his life now, for better or worse. There shouldn’t be anything tripping him up. This should be a simple thing; it was time to let go. 

He couldn’t go back, and holding on was pointless. 

No looking back. Time to look forward. It’s what River would have wanted. 

John looked up into Clara’s sympathetic brown eyes. 

“Tell me about the local gentry.”

@>\--->\----

The man who answered the door at Vitex Manor called himself Ianto and ushered John into what he called the study. It was a well-apportioned room, with upholstered armchairs in front of the fireplace, a large desk that looked to be cluttered with papers and, much to John’s delight, four walls lined with books. 

John ignored Ianto’s request to have a seat by the fire, but obeyed the instruction to make himself at home while he waited for the Lord of the house by walking by the shelves of books, his eyes taking in the titles of the books hungrily, his fingers lightly tracing the spines. 

He came to a volume on ancient Egypt that he had never read before and plucked it from the shelf. Simultaneously, in a well-practiced motion, he let it fall open in his hand as he slid his glasses up his nose. He licked his finger and leafed through a couple of pages, then closed the book and put it back, making note of the title. He took a step forward, peering at the other tomes lining the shelves. Perhaps there were others he hadn’t…

“This is only a small sampling of my collection,” came a voice from the doorway. “There are many more in my library.”

John snapped upright, turning to face the man and shoving his glasses in his pockets at once. “I’m so sorry, sir... I mean Lord…”

The ginger man smiled and waved a dismissive hand. “Do not worry about it. I appreciate a curious man, a man who wishes to learn about the world around him. That’s why I’ve brought you here, is it not?” He extended his hand in front of him. “Peter Tyler, Baron Vitex.”

“Mr. John Smythe, at your service, Baron Vitex,” John said, shaking the proffered hand. 

“In such informal settings, I’d very much like it if you’d call me ‘Pete’. Makes me feel like less of a ponce. That alright?”

John nodded. “And you are more than welcome to call me ‘John’, of course.”

“Excellent! Shall we sit down and have a brandy while we discuss business?” He gestured to the chairs in front of the fire, and John had a seat. 

“I understand you’re here because you’re a tutor?” Pete asked, pouring the brandy. 

“Well, sir,” John said, accepting the snifter and preparing to deliver the speech he’d been practicing for a week, “I just came to Powell recently. I was trained in my home to be the library curator, but as this town already has a curator for its library, I must seek other employment. It’s my understanding that you’re in need of a tutor for your daughter, and so I am here to offer my services.” _There,_ he thought. _Not too bad._

Pete sat across from him, looking thoughtful. “My daughters are seventeen and eighteen, and if their mother has her way, they’ll be entering the marriage mart in three years. Amy, my younger daughter, seems excited at the prospect. Rose - that’s my older daughter’s name, Dame Rose Tyler - is more willful than that, though, and more clever. I think she’s meant for more than a simple life as a wife and mother. Not saying that I’m opposed to her finding her happiness in that way, if that’s what she wants,” he clarified, “but I want her to know her own mind. Make her own decisions. I want her to be well-informed. Both of them, really.

“Her mother, on the other hand, wants her to marry up,” Pete continued. “You see, I’m only a Baron, rather low on the hierarchy of nobility, no matter that I'm quite well-off, financially. My wife and I both want a marvelous life for our girls, but...well...we differ on how to go about getting that for them. And if neither of them marry nobility, then our title - minor though it may be - dies with me. And thus, I recognize that my daughters must marry, but want them to be able to marry at their discretion, and with a head full of knowledge.”

“I understand, sir.”

“If you agree to come work for me, I’ll be hiring you on for a three-year contract. You’ll be teaching my girls until their debut, at which time your employment will be terminated with a letter of recommendation for other employment. Is that acceptable?”

“It’s very generous, sir, thank you.”

“I understand you are staying with Ms. Oswald, at the Tardis?”

“That’s correct.”

“Are you comfortable there?”

“I’ve only been there a week, but I rather like it so far. Ms. Oswald is a -” John swallowed. “Was a family friend.” 

“If you’d like, in recompense, I can pay your expenses at the Tardis Inn and a small personal stipend as well. Or, you’re welcome to stay here, with us, as a family guest.”

“I’d prefer to stay at the Tardis, if that’s alright,” John said, a bit uncomfortable with the idea of staying with the family and unable to articulate why. 

“That’s not a problem at all. I’ll make the arrangements with Ms. Oswald. She’s a lovely person,” Pete said, his voice warm. “Oh, and I almost forgot to mention. You’ll have access to my personal library at your leisure, and to the books of my study with my knowledge and permission - which won’t be hard to gain. Just make sure I’m notified and you gain permission from myself or Ianto before you come in here, and that’ll be all you need. Oh, and return the books when you’re finished, of course.”

John felt a little gobsmacked, and he hadn’t even seen the library. “Thank you, sir. That’s incredibly kind…”

Pete waved a dismissive hand. “Think nothing of it. So what do you say? Would you be willing to stick around Powell for three years and give my daughters the education I feel they deserve?”

John weighed the options in his mind for a moment. He was being offered a place to live, three square meals a day, friendship, access to books, and time to utilize those books in exchange for giving the information he knew to a couple of teenaged girls. 

What on earth could possibly go wrong with this plan? 

“It would be my honor, Pete. I’ll be happy to teach your daughters.”

“Excellent!” Pete stood up and John followed suit. The two men shook hands, then Pete led John over to his desk, where they signed the necessary paperwork to employ John Smythe as the official tutor for Dames Rose and Amy Tyler for three years.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of teasing between sisters, then a meeting with James Stone, Lord Batcroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder: Jimmy Stone is an absolute _jerk_ in this story.

The two young girls leaving their father’s library were both quite pretty, and although both wore day dresses in similar pastel shades, both had their hair styled in similar chignons appropriate for at-home days and both carried a couple of books, the girls otherwise could not have been more different. 

Dame Amy, the younger of the two, was tall and had ginger hair like her father, which she lamented to anyone who would listen made her unfashionable and unattractive. This latter was untrue, however, as she had caught the eye of several young lads already, most notably the young Rory Williams, Lord Pond. Amy’s bluster as a fiery redhead was just that, however...bluster. Amy was much more of a stickler for the rules of etiquette and society than her sister and was quite ready to meet a wonderful and dashing Lord and be whisked away to a castle. 

The older sister, Dame Rose, had been blessed with fashionable blonde hair and a dainty, petite frame that belied the will of steel beneath it. She had a wide-set mouth that grew even wider when she gave one of the smiles she was prone to, and hazel eyes that twinkled impishly when she’d done something a little mischievous (which was quite often). Her puckish sense of humor and difficulty following society’s rules was the bane of her mother’s existence, and the light of her father’s world. However, as the older daughter, the responsibility of making a good match fell primarily to her - a responsibility of which her mother reminded her at least twice daily. Rose would have been perfectly content to stay at Vitex Manor and take lessons from Mr. Smythe forever.

Speaking of...

“Amy, you simply must stop making moon-eyes at poor Mr. Smythe,” Rose admonished once they left the library after their studies concluded for the day. “You’ve been doing it for nigh on a year, ever since he came to tutor us. It makes him terribly uncomfortable.”

Amy gave her a coy look. “He doesn’t seem so uncomfortable with _your_ moon eyes.”

Rose looked scandalized. “I do _not_ make… _that face_ at Mr. Smythe!” she protested in a hissing whisper. 

Amy looked smug, as if she’d won a great victory by breaking Rose’s normally cool demeanor. “It’s just as well,” she lamented. “You’ll be marrying James Stone quite soon, and then I can make all the moon eyes I like at Mr. Smythe, since you won’t be around.”

Rose rolled her eyes, a most indelicate gesture from a young lady of the peerage. There was no way in hades she’d be marrying James Stone. No way in hades or...what had Mr. Smythe been teaching them in their mythology lessons? Oh, yes. There was no way in hades, anaon, uffern, peklo, or manala she’d be marrying James Stone. It was rather handy having all of that information at her disposal, right up there in her mind. It made her a much more capable conversationalist and she felt infinitely better about herself. Mr. Smythe had done wonderful things for her self-esteem in the short time he’d been with her family. 

So what if she spent a little bit of the time she was in his lessons staring at him, wondering if it were actually possible to get lost in someone’s eyes, or if faces like his were what motivated composers to write musicals, or what his lips might taste like if they were to sample hers, and what his thick hair would feel like between her fingers? No one needed to know that her mind wandered into such unladylike territory, need they? And she could certainly deny it if Amy ever accused her of mooning over her tutor. 

Oh, right. She was being accused of that just now. And she was, likewise, accusing her sister of doing the same. Best get back to that.

“It certainly doesn't stop you from making eyes at him now.”

“You can’t marry him, you know,” Amy said suddenly.

Rose’s heart skipped a bit in her chest and she struggled to sound unconcerned, airy. “Whatever are you talking about, Amy?” 

“Yes,” came a deep voice from the study, making both of the girls jump. “Whatever are you talking about, Amy?”

James Stone, Viscount Batcroft stepped out of the sitting room, his hands clasped behind his back, his smile deceptively casual but somehow predatory as he looked over the two girls. 

“Please excuse us, Lord Batcroft,” Rose said, giving a little bow of her head. “We weren’t aware that you were here.” 

“I only just arrived,” he said, nodding his head towards the door. Rose turned her head just in time to see Ianto’s scowl turn to a bland look, and sympathized. 

“It is a pleasure to see you, Lord Batcroft,” Amy said with a little, perfectly-executed curtsey.

“Please, Amy,” he raised a benevolent hand. “No need for all the formalities, are there? After all, you and I are practically family,” he said, his voice suddenly oily as he looked at Rose. She did her best to repress a shudder. 

“You may call me what my family and friends call me,” he said with what he clearly considered a friendly smile. “‘Jimmy’.” 

“Thank you, Jimmy,” Amy said, beaming.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Rose said, tugging on Amy’s arm. “We really must be going. Our tutor has set a bit of work for us…”

“A tutor!” Jimmy burst into laughter. “Whatever could you possibly want a tutor for? You don’t need that rubbish!”

Rose stiffened her spine. “I rather happen to like learning,” she said, a bit defiant. 

Jimmy leered at her. “When we marry, Dame Rose, you’ll enjoy married life much more, I assure you.”

Rose didn’t bother repressing a shudder this time, then she spoke. “I’ve not agreed to marry you, Lord Batcroft.”

“Why else would I be here today, Rose? On the big toe of nowhere? Certainly not for my health!” He laughed at her. “I’m here to ask for your hand!”

“I’ve not agreed to marry you, Lord Batcroft,” Rose said again, teeth clenched, clinging to propriety.

Jimmy stepped forward and peered down at her with narrowed eyes. “You’ll marry me, alright, Rose Tyler. You’ll be my wife, and you’ll be grateful for it; little bumpkin like you being elevated to a viscountess. I don’t know why I’m bothering with the likes of you, if I’m being honest, but there’s something about you that’s...intriguing.”

Rose tipped her chin upwards in a blatant show of defiance. “My father will never agree, and even if he does, I never will. I’ll never love you, James Stone.”

He sneered and bent down, catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I don't need your love. I’ll have you, Rose Tyler. Just you wait. You’ll be mine, and sod what you _or_ your father want.”

He let go of her chin by pushing her away and she glared at him, the mischievous twinkle in her eyes now a blazing anger. 

Ianto came to the door of the sitting room and announced, in a dry tone, “Lord Batcroft, the Baron will see you now.”

“Until next time, sweetheart,” Jimmy winked at her. Then he paused at the doorway. “Oh, and you might as well start calling me ‘Jimmy’ now.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected turn of events.

The day of the carriage accident was rainy, and the speculation that ran through the town like wildfire tended to run along the lines of ‘of course the old cart driver had been soused and drove Pete Tyler’s carriage off the road, but perhaps Pete’s driver could have saved the situation had the roads not been wet’. People cursed the rain and rotten luck, and many heavy-hearted toasts were made in Pete’s honor. John joined in, his heart heavier than most.

All of these rumors and innuendo swirled around John in the Tardis Inn, where he sat at a table with his back to the corner, nursing a mug of ale. Clara had raised an eyebrow at him when he ordered it - John never drank - but she didn’t hesitate to hand it over. John was glad. He’d not felt so despondent since River had sent him away. Books weren’t providing the escape he needed right at the moment. Perhaps the alcohol would help. 

He had been employed by the Tylers for just shy of two years at the time of Pete’s death, and was well in love with the oldest daughter, Rose, by that point. He felt sure that she felt the same for him, but he couldn’t possibly verify that she did without causing a stir. Rose was expected to marry a landed member of the gentry, but John had been ready to throw himself at Pete’s mercy and beg for the hand of his daughter. He believed that Pete would grant the match if Dame Amy could find a suitable husband amongst the peerage and save his title. 

All of his hopes had been pinned on Pete Tyler’s benevolence, and he’d felt that he had a good chance to win the hand of the woman he loved. Now Pete was gone, and John’s dreams had died with his last breath. 

The door to the Inn slammed open and John looked up. He shook his head in disgust, then looked back down into his beer when he saw who had just arrived. 

James Stone, Lord Batcroft. Bastard of the universe. 

He’d grown used to seeing the viscount in the Inn when he came into town, but Lord Batcroft had not let the fact that he was trying to woo the daughter of the Baron curb his behavior. The viscount, without fail, got excessively drunk and made a nuisance of himself before he took one of the barmaids upstairs for a tumble. Upon sobering the next day, he’d present himself to Dame Rose, and as soon as he left the home of his intended, he came back to the Inn and got rip-roaringly drunk again... before carrying off another all-too-willing barmaid for some debauchery. 

The thought of the viscount anywhere near Rose made John feel physically ill. 

Jimmy glared at the patron in the chair he most favored, then plopped himself into the seat when it emptied. “Barkeep!” Jimmy exclaimed in grand fashion.

Clara rolled her eyes and threw her rag down, disgusted. 

She’d barely gotten over to Jimmy when he reached his arm out, darted it around her waist and pulled her into his lap. John tensed, ready to jump to his friends defense, but Clara was off of Jimmy’s knee before he could blink. She whirled around and pointed at him, her finger inches from his nose. 

“I don’t care who you are or what your title may be, you are not permitted to touch me nor any other woman in this establishment without her express permission. If you want to drink and carouse, that’s all fine and well. But you will do so as a gentleman or you will leave my premises. Is that understood, Lord Batcroft?”

Jimmy raised his hands in mock surrender, his eyes wide but amused. “Then I shan’t touch you,” he said. “Until you beg me to.” He gave her a leer, and John could see Clara’s control waver.

She spun on her heel and walked away without another word. Before she’d even made it back to her position at the bar, a buxom brunette with a scandalously low-cut gown had situated herself on Jimmy’s knee, taking Clara’s place. 

“Git,” Clara muttered, picking up the rag. 

Jimmy bought a round of drinks for the entire pub, earning an unenthusiastic cheer from the crowd who were abnormally subdued after Pete’s death. The gesture helped his standing, though, and he began to expound on his unexpected presence in Powell to the nearest patrons. 

“Get used to me, fellas, I’ll be here quite a bit. Got business to take care of. But don’t worry,” he added in a lower, oily voice. “I’ll be taking care of you too, sweetheart,” he said, nuzzling the exposed chest of the barmaid in his lap. 

John felt his skin crawl. 

“You movin’ here, Lord Batcroft?”

“No,” Jimmy said, slamming the tankard back down onto the table after draining it. “I’ll be courting Rose Tyler. Since her papa has snuffed it, I’ll be seeking her hand from Lady Tyler.” 

The crowd as a whole seemed to recoil from the words ‘snuffed it’, but no one said anything. 

“Why don’t you just marry the chit and be done with it?” an older man, deep enough into his cups to not worry about calling a lady of the peerage ‘chit’, asked. 

“Can’t,” Jimmy replied, then took a moment to whisper something undoubtedly filthy into the woman on his lap’s ear. She tittered obnoxiously. 

“Why can’t ya?”

“Because Pete Tyler, the old pillock, made a provision in his will that his girls aren’t permitted to marry until their come-out, and they can’t have their come-out until they’ve completed their education. If they don’t, if the contract is broken, then I’ll have to take the bint without her dowry, and that just won’t do. No use in taking the cow when I can have the barn, too. The dumb bastard,” Jimmy groused. “I’ll get around it. There’s no way a stupid piece of paper will keep me from what I want for very long. But that’s alright. I don’t mind coming around...lots of things to attract me to the area.” He groped the giggling barmaid’s bottom.

“How long will you be coming ‘round then, Lord Batcroft! Lord knows we could do with you buying a round of ale for everyone on a regular basis!” This was met with a handful of cheers from the more intoxicated patrons.

Jimmy gave what he must have thought was a benevolent smile, but came off much more of a sneer. “The girls can have their come-out in one year’s time. After that, Rose’ll be mine and I won’t have to come back to this hole.”

The barmaid on his lap pouted.

“Why don’t ya just marry someone else?”

The viscount’s countenance darkened. “I want Rose. Nobody keeps me from what I want.” The barmaid cooed and lay her hand on Jimmy’s chest. He brightened, then groped the woman in his lap yet again. “But for now, I believe I’ll retire for the evening and enjoy some...entertainment.” 

He started to drain his tankard, and another man spoke up: “Get it out of your system now, while you’re still a bachelor, eh? Once you’re leg-shackled, all the fun stops!”

Jimmy scoffed. “Stops? Why on earth would the fun stop? I’m near-certain that my intended will be a frigid bitch...I’ll be having my fun, and no two ways about it.” 

With that, he stood and picked up the barmaid, tossing her over his shoulder and walking towards the stairs that led up to the rented rooms. 

John seethed. There was no way he could allow his Rose, the woman he loved, to be stuck with that...that _bastard_ in holy matrimony. He had to think of something.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant afternoon for Rose and John is ruined by an unwelcome visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long!

John sat with Dame Rose on a bench in the Tyler’s garden, marveling at his good fortune. 

Dame Rose (or simply Rose, as he’d been invited to call her) sat by him on the small bench, feigning ignorance for the topic at hand. He knew quite well that she understood the mechanics of cloud formation perfectly. 

He would take her pretended ignorance, however, and run with it quite gladly. The hours that he spent tutoring her was time he was allowed to spend with the object of his affections, and he cherished every fraction of every second. Just being in her presence was enough to set his heart to racing and leave him nearly breathless. The few times they’d had occasion for the skin of their hands to touch, he could have sworn that sparks leapt from one to the other, and the skin she’d brushed against felt warm for hours after. It was only his firm grasp of all things scientific that told him these reactions must be in his head. 

Every minute with Rose Tyler was a treasure and he treated it accordingly, guarding the memories of her and her nearness close to his heart, reliving them every night as he drifted to sleep. They were stolen moments of bliss that John knew he would have to live on for the rest of his life, for Rose could never be his. 

However inevitable it was, the day he’d no longer see Rose Tyler and bask in her presence was still in the future. For now, for this moment, he had her beside him and looking at him as if he hung the moon (which was ridiculous, of course... the moon orbited the Earth, held in place by velocity and gravity; it didn’t just hang there). 

She had professed not to understand the formation of the clouds in the sky, and he was all too happy to explain it over and over again. “So you see, the sun is responsible for the clouds that hide it. The sun beats down upon the Earth and creates the vapor, which rises and condenses into the clouds you see. It’s the very same process that takes place when Mrs. Cook is boiling water, just on a much larger scale.” 

“But the Earth isn’t boiling,” Rose pointed out, and there was a little flash of teeth where her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth. He tried not to stare at it.

“No, the Earth is certainly not boiling,” he said, flustered, looking away from her mouth and the temptation there. “But when the sun shines down on the earth, it makes things quite warm, like the ground on a summer’s day. When the sun warms the rivers, lakes and oceans, the heat turns some of the water to vapor.”

“Like steam?” she asked.

“Exactly so. That vapor rises in the atmosphere, higher and higher, then as it cools, the water particles attract each other. The vapor begins to coalesce in the atmosphere and forms clouds. Similar to the way steam seems to stick to cooler objects and makes them wet; it condenses on them.”

“Like the flue over Mrs. Cook’s stove?”

“Correctamundo!” John’s eyes widened, horrified that he’d said such a ridiculous and uneducated word. He was utterly mortified, but Rose giggled. “Oh, that was horrible,” he said by way of apology. “Let’s hope I never say that again.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, shy, peeking at him from beneath her lashes. “You can say whatever you like.”

His heart stuttered in his chest. Blimey, she was beautiful.

She nudged him after a moment. “Clouds are made of vapor?”

“Right. Yes. Steam on the flue,” he stammered, trying to regain his equilibrium. He always felt so off-balance when he was near her... If he didn’t know better, he’d have believed she was some magical enchantress, and he was under her spell. 

Maybe she was, and he had been wrong not to believe in magic. 

If he were ever to believe that anyone possessed magic, he’d believe it of her. Dame Rose Tyler could do anything, anything at all. 'Impossible' was not something she ever needed to understand.

Right now, however, she was looking at him with an expectant look tempered with a small smile. He wondered for a moment what could have earned that look from her, and then it occurred to him what he was supposed to be doing.

 _Right. Yes. Cloud formation_. “And what happens when too much steam gathers on the flue, after it cools down?” he asked.

Rose pretended to think, although he knew perfectly well that she knew the answer. “It falls back down as a fat drop of water!”

“Yes! Oh, very good, Rose Tyler.”

She tittered a laugh, and he beamed at her. 

She didn’t need these extra lessons. The knowledge that she didn’t, and only requested them to spend time with him, left him feeling nearly intoxicated. 

“So the steam gathers in the sky?” 

“What?” he asked - he’d been reflecting about how her voice was like like the sweetest poetry set to the most glorious music, and had become rather lost in the hazel depths of her eyes. 

“Water? In the sky? That make clouds?” she reminded him, her tongue making another appearance between her teeth, looking rather like a cherry on top of an already-delicious pastry. 

He longed to taste it. 

“Yes, that’s exactly right.”

Rose leaned back a bit, putting her hands on the bench behind her and looking into the sky. The creamy expanse of her neck was bared to his sight and he did his best to be covert when he drank in the vision she presented. “There must be a tremendous amount of vapor to create such billowy clouds.”

“Well, there are lots of ponds and rivers, and the ocean is quite vast,” he reasoned. 

“How do the clouds take shape?” she asked without looking over at him. He opened his mouth to answer her, but she cut him off. “I don’t mean how do they condense, you've explained that. I wonder how they come to make such lovely pictures in the sky. It's almost as if they're crafted by angels. Look,” she pointed up, directing his attention to a large cloud. “What do you think that is?”

John followed the direction of her finger, and the answer sprung to his lips immediately. “That cloud is classified as a ‘nimbus’.” _There. Impressive._

She shook her head and smiled at him. “I didn’t mean to look at it as a scientist. What does it _look_ like to you?”

He stared at the cloud for a second, trying desperately to think of something clever to say, when she sighed happily beside him. “I think it looks like a brave knight on a horse, maybe a noble prince.”

John finally cottoned on to her train of thought, but didn’t waste time chastising himself for not catching on sooner. He was too busy wishing he could be the man she saw in the clouds, who made her sound so blissful. It was difficult to concentrate with Rose’s head so close to his shoulder.

“Yes,” he replied. “And the smaller cloud in front could be his beautiful damsel.” 

Rose’s head swiveled to him, away from the sky. “Do you think that, perhaps, she’s his princess?”

He turned to face her, and oh, she was only inches away. “I think she means more to him than any other.”

His eyes flicked down to the soft, pink pillows of her lips, and then back up to her eyes. Her eyes were darker than he'd ever seen them, and there was purpose there.

She closed them, and he lifted a hand, intending to finally, _finally_ touch her cheek just before he stole a kiss from his love. He could never have her, not really, but if he could taste her...just once...he could live on it forever.

“Rose? Rose! Are you out here?”

The two leapt apart, putting a respectable amount of distance between each other, and the voice grew closer. 

“Stupid girl. More trouble than she’s worth,” the voice muttered. Then, louder, “Rose? Rose! Oh, there you are.”

Cassandra O’Brien Tyler rounded the corner and stepped out into the garden, holding her skirts up to avoid letting them touch the filthy ground. Rose and John had gotten to their feet and taken another step apart from each other before Lady Tyler spotted them, but that didn’t stop the narrowed, suspicious eyes on both of them. “What are you doing? Why are you with that man?”

“He was teaching me about clouds, Stepmother,” Rose said gently. “It was part of our lesson today, and I didn’t fully understand what he was explaining, so I asked him to show me.”

“Get away from him!” Cassandra snapped. “He’s a commoner. Not worthy of your notice, stupid girl.”

John fumed. _As if I need to be reminded of that._

“Mr. Smythe is my tutor, Stepmother. If I paid him no notice, I wouldn’t be honoring Father’s wishes.”

Cassandra made an indelicate, disbelieving sound in the back of her throat. “Your father’s wishes were daft. You don’t need this...this… _rubbish_ ,” she gestured at John. “You’re passing pretty, and there are already suitors waiting for you. Lord Batcroft, for instance.”

John was insulted at the assertion that Rose was ‘passing pretty’. She was bloody gorgeous, the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

He noticed Rose gritting her teeth and clenching her fists, seemingly clinging to propriety. “I do not wish to marry Lord Batcroft, Stepmother,” she bit out.

“And I do not care, Rose,” Cassandra said, her tone condescending. “You are a thankless girl who appreciates nothing given to her. It’s a miracle I even tolerate you. Thank the stars that your sister is pretty enough to draw enough suitors out here to the back end of nowhere, enough for you to have some as well. Your father never let me rear you as I wanted, or you’d have been scrubbing the floor to learn a bit of humility. But no, he coddled and protected you, and look at how you turned out!”

John’s anger was roiling within him at Rose being spoken to in such a manner. His fingernails dug little crecent moons into his palms as he stood there in a forced silence.

Cassandra went on. “And after spending so much time in the presence of this...this low-born man, you should fall on your knees praising the heavens that anyone will even have you. Much less a catch as wonderful as James Stone.”

“He’s not wonderful, Stepmother. He speaks to me as if I am his...chattel.”

“That’s not my concern,” Cassandra said, waving a dismissive hand, then turning back to go into the house. “I could care less what he does with you, as long as he takes you off of my hands. I’d have turned you out long ago, but your father _loved_ you,” she said in a mocking tone. “Turned you into a rotten, ungrateful little brat, if you ask me.”

Rose gasped, her eyes wide and suddenly shining with tears, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. 

Cassandra stopped in the doorway of the garden and looked back at a stung Rose and fuming John. “You’ll do the bare minimum of these...these _lessons_. Whatever it takes to release your father’s funds to me upon the fulfillment of his wishes and your marriage. Until that happy day, you’ll follow me in the house this instant and mend your sister’s ballgown after you polish the good silver. But you must do it quickly: Lord Batcroft is coming this evening, and we must make a good impression on him.” 

The older woman turned to go into the house, muttering just loud enough for John and Rose to hear. “Thank the stars your coming-out is in just a few weeks, and then you’ll get out of my house. I hope Lord Batcroft marries you swiftly so that you’re out of my hair, then takes you back to his manor and puts you in your place.”

John watched the older woman go, incredulous that someone could treat another human so callously. 

Rose stood beside him, silent, until the sound of Cassandra’s slipper had faded completely away, then turned to him with a frail smile that gutted him. 

“Thank you, Mr. Smythe, for instructing me about the formation of clouds. If you’ll excuse me, I have chores to do.”

“Rose…” he began, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Today was lovely. Thank you.”

John followed her with his eyes as she walked away from him and into the house. He wanted to call out to her, wanted to sweep her away and protect her from that miserable woman and the lecherous Jimmy Stone, wanted to do something - _anything_ \- to stop the shaking of her shoulders that told him that this precious girl was crying.

Dame Rose Tyler should never cry. She was an angel, and angels should never, ever weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jackie Tyler is one of my very favorite characters on Doctor Who, and is, in my opinion, the most criminally underrated character. I simply could not write her as a shrew. I love her too much.
> 
> So you get a bitchy trampoline.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the night of Rose's ball, and John is miserable. Thankfully, there is a reprieve.

John couldn’t remember a time that he’d felt so despondent, so helpless. Even when River had died she’d charged him with coming here, sent him to meet friends. She'd sent him to a person who would take care of him. She’d died and left him, going out of his life, but she’d left him with some direction, some plan. It had been small comfort, but it was something.

Now, sitting here in the tavern of the Tardis, he had nothing. 

Rose’s coming-out ball was that night, and he’d racked his frankly magnificent brain for some way to stop it. His love for Rose hadn’t diminished, and he knew that it never would. He wanted to stop Rose’s wicked stepmother, to prove himself worthy of the beautiful woman he loved so much. But he couldn’t, and the despair nearly consumed him. 

The Tardis Inn was busy, and the patrons were fairly buzzing with excitement over the expected festivities. Their jubilation only served to make him feel worse. 

A tall, handsome man in a military uniform slid into the chair beside John and he rolled his eyes when he saw who it was. Jack Harkness, Captain of the Guard and well-known lothario. John had no quarrel with the man, but he’d watched the handsome Captain romance and woo more women than he could count, faithful to none. John simply didn’t operate like that, and he felt that - no matter how much he usually liked the winsome Captain - he had little in common with the man. Jack seemed to be rather like Lord Batcroft, but without the mean streak, propensity to violence, and condescending attitude. And, of course, the claim to Rose’s hand. 

When he thought about it, he supposed that there wasn’t much in common between Jack and Lord Batcroft after all, except that they both liked to romance as many ladies as possible. Somehow, however, it didn’t bother John so much when Jack did it. Probably because no one was getting hurt in his pursuits. Everyone seemed to have a good time, and the women certainly had no complaints.

The Captain was a good sort, John knew, and even though he was a member of the military that John tried so hard to scorn and avoid, the two frequently played chess. Jack was surprisingly intelligent, and they often discussed books and theories about science. Typically, when the Captain wasn’t attempting to woo his way into the knickers of someone at the pub, John saw him as a friend, one of a very precious few, and one of only two people who knew of his love for Rose. 

Right now, however, he wished that Jack would shove off. 

“Let me guess,” Jack said, making himself comfortable. “Your invitation to the ball got lost in the mail?”

“There will be no invitation forthcoming,” John said irritably, then his voice settled back into melancholy. “I’m unworthy of her.”

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Buck up, mate! It’s only love!”

“Only love!?” John sputtered, indignant. “Love is the greatest thing there is! How dare you be so...so dismissive?! Whatever could you _possibly_ know of love?”

“Hey there, pal,” Jack said, holding up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “Take it easy. I’m here to help.”

“How could _you_ ever help?” John threw out the rhetorical question then his shoulders sagged as he deflated. The righteous anger over Jack’s statement faded, and he crawled back into his sack of self-pity and woe.

Jack reached into the breast pocket of his uniform and withdrew an engraved invitation to the ball. “With this,” he said simply, sliding it across the table to John with one finger.

John looked down at it, nonplussed, trying to make sense of it. Finally, a thought worked its way out. “Are you taunting me? Why would you do this?” he asked.

“I’m offering you one more night with your love. You can take my invitation and go in my stead. It’s a masked ball, so no one need know that you’re not me. If you keep your head down, you can have the evening with your Dame Rose.”

His brain was scrambling to make sense of what was happening, but all it had really taken away from that was ‘ _you can have the evening with Dame Rose_ ’. The thought left his mind buzzing, and he couldn’t think clearly. Finally, he said, “I couldn’t possibly go. I’m not suitably attired.” 

“Aha,” Clara said, striding up to the table, “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s all taken care of, isn’t it, Jack?” She smiled at the Captain. “Jack here is going to loan you some of his clothes and his horse. You can use them to go to the ball.”

“But...why?” John asked, stunned.

“Because I’m a nice guy,” Jack said, crossing his ankles and tucking his hands behind his head. “And because you’re miserable right now and the funk you’re in is bringing down the vibe of the whole joint. I’ll never get anywhere with you sitting over here under a dark cloud.” 

“You’re concerned my melancholy is disrupting your amorous pursuits?” 

“Among other things,” Jack tossed out, undaunted by John’s heated tone.

John felt stunned and a little angry. He opened his mouth to retort, but Clara cut him off. “Oi! Are you going to spend your evening here, arguing with the people trying to help you, or are you going to take this opportunity to be with Dame Rose?”

He stammered. “But...I can’t…”

“Your time is limited, John, you must go prepare. The clothes are waiting in your room. Come back here when you’re dressed,” Clara said. John just looked at her for a minute, and she waved him away dismissively. “Go! Get dressed!”

“Is this real?” he asked her in a quiet voice after he stood to leave.

“Not if you don’t hurry,” Jack deadpanned.

@}---->\------

A half hour later, John came down the steps into the tavern wearing the formal togs Jack had loaned him. 

“My, my,” Clara said, coming forward with a smile, brushing imaginary dust off of his borrowed lapel. “Aren’t you just a sight?”

Jack gave a low whistle. “You look good enough to eat,” he said, earning a dirty look from John and a swat from Clara’s dishcloth. 

“Behave, you, or I’ll throw you out of my tavern.”

“Awww, Clara…” Jack pouted.

She ignored him and turned to John, who still felt a little speechless. “Now, John, I need you to listen. This is important.”

He nodded to indicate he was paying attention. 

“Jack _has_ to have his horse in order to do his patrol, so you _have_ to be back here by midnight.”

“I have to start my patrol then, and I cannot be late. I need my horse by midnight, and no later. Do you understand?”

“Midnight. Got it,” John parroted.

“Second,” Clara went on, “you need a name -”

“I have a name,” John responded at once. 

“No, she means a fake name,” Jack stated.

Clara clarified: “You need a name besides your own. One to get you in the door and that won’t rouse suspicions.”

“I have a name,” John told Clara. “River gave me another name when I...long ago.”

She studied him for a minute, then gave him a curt nod. 

“That’ll do. Just be sure to add ‘Lord’ in front of it.”

John snickered to himself at the thought of himself as a member of the nobility. “Right.”

“Here’s your mask,” Jack handed it to him. “Don’t take it off for anyone, or you’ll be recognized.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“And, John?” Clara started, then hesitated a moment. “I have something for you.” She went back behind the bar and came back with a small stack of papers tied in a satin ribbon and a medallion. “Before she died, River sent these to me with a note that told me to give them to you at the right moment. She told me that I would know when that moment was, and not to give them to you until I knew it was right. I thought she was barking and I’d just give them to you at some point in the future but...well, now seems like the right time. I think you’re meant to have them now, and to wear the medallion.”

Clara placed the small bundle of papers and medallion in John’s hands. He looked down at them, his eyes widening in recognition and then misting with tears. These were the only things he’d had when River found him, all those many years ago. She’d taken them away when she’d taken him in and given him a home. He’d not seen them since, and the reminder of her was a bit painful now. 

“Take those,” Clara said, breaking into his reverie. “Wear the medallion and hold on to the papers. I just...I feel like that’s something you’re meant to do.”

“I will,” he promised, then tucked the papers into the pocket of his formal coat and slipped the medallion around his neck. 

“There now,” Clara smiled as she adjusted the lay of his medallion and brushed more imaginary dust from his lapel, tugging at the shoulders as if to check the fit of his clothes. “You look fit for a ball, I suppose,” she said, her eyes twinkling up at him affectionately. 

“Here’s the invitation.” Jack handed him the embossed card. “That’s your ticket in. Present it at the door, and give them the name you’ve come up with.”

John nodded, and Jack went on. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you forever with your love.”

“If either of us could wave a magic wand and make it so, we would,” Clara interrupted. 

“But we can’t. Neither of us have any kind of magic. All we can give you is this one night with her, so it’s up to you to make it magical.”

“I understand,” he nodded, then looked at each of them, his eyes brimming with gratitude. He shook Jack’s hand. “Thank you.” He opened his arms and stepped towards Clara, but she batted his hands away.

“Don’t waste time on gratitude and hugs right now, you daftie! Go! See Dame Rose! Make memories!”

John hesitated for a minute, then bent and pecked Clara on the cheek anyway. “Thank you,” he whispered, then started towards the stables to fetch Jack’s horse without another word. 

Jack and Clara walked to the door behind him and waved as he mounted the horse. 

“Have a wonderful time!” Jack called out to him.

“And remember,” Clara reminded him, “home by midnight!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gatecrashes Rose's coming-out ball.

John rode up to the manor and dismounted the horse a short ways away, taking care to don the mask he’d been given. Securing it, he led the horse the rest of the way to the stable and left it with the stable boy with instructions to have it ready to go before midnight. Then he turned towards the front of the manor house. 

He fought down his nerves as he ascended the stairs, hearing the music filtering out into the night. _This is your last chance to be with Dame Rose,_ he told himself firmly. _No backing out._

He presented Jack’s invitation to the guard at the front of the home and tried to maintain his tenuous level of calm. The guard checked it over, then looked up at him in his mask and nodded. “Go to the ballroom entrance and present Ianto with your name.”

John answered with a nod and did as instructed. 

Ianto stood at the entrance of the ballroom, announcing guests as they entered. John, of course, knew Ianto very well from his years at the Powell estate, and his nerves fluttered as he neared the front of the queue for his name to be called. 

“Name?” Ianto asked, and John stumbled for just a moment. It was long enough for the other man to look up at him, suspiciously, then with dawning recognition. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I know. I just…”

“Name?” he asked curtly. John looked at him, wondering if he were serious, then Ianto winked at him. “Go on, give the name you want to be called.”

John squared his shoulders. “Sir Doctor of Trenzalore.”

“Nice one,” Ianto muttered before he turned to the large room and announced John.

John swallowed hard and looked out on the crowd, many of whom had turned to peer at the new arrival with the name none of them had heard of. 

“Go on,” Ianto encouraged him from behind. “Go give our girl a wonderful night to remember.”

He turned to the other man and caught a nudge in the back. Smiling a little, he stepped out into the glittering room. 

Scores of masked lords and ladies spun with each other on the dance floor before him and chattered to each other against the walls. The women were decked out in the finest silks with their hair in elaborate fashions meant to entice. Most of them were glittering with jewels: earbobs, necklaces and bracelets meant to attract the eye and enhance their beauty. 

He paid attention none of them. Instead, his eyes swept the room for the love of his heart. 

_Act as if you’re meant to be here,_ he told himself firmly. _Arouse no suspicion._

John plucked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and went back to surveying the masked crowd. 

_There._ There she was, he’d know her anywhere and and oh, she was lovely, even with her face obscured.

She wore a blue gown, not an unusual color but on her, it was the most lovely color he’d ever seen. The bodice was dazzling, with the material of the gown being covered by sparkling, clear stones and catching the light. The skirt of the gown flowed outwards from her waist, but crystals shone from its folds, reminding John of stars, winking down from them during their few astronomy lessons. 

She looked heavenly, in every sense of the word. Like a goddess draped in the night sky.

He was entranced and realized instantly how appropriate her attire was. She _was_ a goddess of the heavens, and he was hopelessly in her orbit. 

Single-mindedly, he started towards her, trying to think of anything that he dared say that may be appropriate. Unfortunately, nothing sprang to mind. Too late to worry about it now, though; he found himself near enough to speak. 

So he did.

“Dame Rose,” he said, bowing over her hand. “May I tell you how lovely you look tonight?”

It was difficult to tell behind the silver-and-blue mask she wore, but the Doctor knew anyway the very moment that she recognized him. Her hand grasped his, instead of lying docile beneath his kiss and the unobscured part of her face lit up with joy.

“John,” she breathed.

“Sir Doctor,” he corrected her at once, hoping that no one else had caught on. “Of Trenzalore.”

Her tongue, that infernal tongue, made an appearance at the corner of her mouth. “Sir Doctor, of course.”

“May I have this dance?” he asked politely.

“You dance?”

“Oh, I’m quite knowledgeable in a range of subjects, Dame Rose, dancing is only one,” he boasted, too pleased with himself to temper his words. “I’ve got the moves, but I wouldn’t want to boast.”

An eyebrow appeared from beneath one side of her mask. “You’ve got the moves? Show me your moves.”

“With pleasure,” he beamed, then extended an arm towards the dance floor.

@}---->\------

John didn’t consider himself to be greedy. He’d always been the type to be grateful for what he had and not ask for much more. 

That night, with Rose in his arms, he was an utterly selfish bastard. 

They shared dance after dance, swirling together on the dance floor, and John shot more than a few looks reminiscent of an Oncoming Storm at the daring blokes who tried to take her away from him. 

He had worried about Jimmy Stone, but Rose allayed his fears. “He’s wandered off with Reinette Poisson,” she said, her voice acidic. “Probably defiling one of my father’s rooms somewhere.”

Rose’s voice should never be anything but happy, so he just thanked the stars for his luck and went back to dancing with her, as he was meant to. 

After an hour or so, Rose indicated that she’d like some refreshment, so he danced her to the side of the room then went to fetch them each a glass of champagne. 

“Have you ever seen the terrace, Doctor?” she asked, and he was grateful for the mask because if she had fluttered her lashes up at him where he could see, he might have made a spectacle of both of them by snogging her breathless right there in the ballroom.

“Not in quite a while,” he said. 

“May I show you?” she offered.

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied, offering his arm and delighting when she took it. 

They walked out onto the terrace overlooking the gardens, and John felt her slide her hand down from the crook of his arm into his hand. He looked down at the place where his hand nestled hers and marveled inwardly at the perfect fit. 

“It’s a beautiful night,” Rose said, dreamy.

“Beautiful,” he agreed, looking at her and not the sky. 

“Doctor?” she asked, still looking at the stars. 

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be someone else?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Someone with a better name for themselves.”

“I rather like your name. _Sir Doctor_ ,” she teased, nudging him. “Where did you come up with it?”

“My - my friend, River, she called me the Doctor when I was younger.”

“Ah,” Rose said, sobering. “She was your...friend?”

“Oh, nothing like that,” he dismissed her worries. “She raised me, from the time she found me when I was about fourteen or so.”

“She found you?”

John nodded. “I was a young whelp when she came upon me on the side of the road. Don’t remember anything before that moment. Well,” he amended, tugging his ear, “nothing worth remembering. All I had on me was this.” He pulled the medallion from the front of his vest and showed it to her, relishing the way she tugged him a little closer to get a better look. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “What does it mean?”

“No idea,” he said. “I had some papers with me as well, but nobody knows what they say. They might explain who I am, but I wouldn’t know. I can’t read the language.”

“May I see?”

“Of course,” he answered, then pulled the little satchel of documents out to show her. 

Rose examined the papers beneath the ribbon. “This writing...all the circles and lines. It’s so beautiful.”

“It is,” he agreed, looking at her again instead of what she was complimenting. To his mind, nothing was as worthy of praise as her. 

“So she called you Doctor?” Rose asked.

“She gave me the name Jo - my name, and called me the Doctor as a pet name.”

“Where’d the ‘sir’ come from, then?”

 

John turned to face her. “I chose it tonight, just for you. Because you’re a dame, and I wanted to be equal to you.”

She hesitated. “You could have made yourself anything. Why not something more lofty than me?”

“Because, Rose, I only want to be your equal, your partner in everything. That’s all I want out of my life. To be yours.”

@}---->\------

Rose’s heart was about to flutter out of her chest. To hear the Doctor - John - say those words to her was all she’d ever dreamed of and more. She closed her eyes and let her body drift closer to his. 

The clock struck, its chimes signaling the time, and John took an abrupt step back. 

“Doctor?”

“Is that...is it midnight?” he asked, panicked.

Rose was confused. “Yes, it is. Time to unmask.”

“I have to go,” he said, flustered. “I’m late. I promised...nevermind. But I have to go. Rose,” he took her hand in one of his and raised her mask. “I want you to know that I see you for you. No mask could ever change what I see in you. You’re brilliant and gorgeous and...and perfect. And as long as I live, my heart will be yours.”

“Oh, John,” she sighed, and the clock struck again. 

John cursed. “I have to go. You have my heart, Rose. It’s yours, always,” he said, pressing a lingering kiss to her fingers before he turned to run away.

“But wait!” she called after him. “Doctor, wait! Doctor!”

It was no use. He had disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone on the veranda. 

Rose covered her face with her hands and let the tears fall down while happy revelers took off their masks and revealed themselves to each other around her. No one bothered her, and she didn’t seek anyone’s attention. 

That couldn’t be it, though. She was a lady of the peerage, and if she wanted John Smythe, then there was no reason she shouldn’t have him. She wiped her eyes and started towards the ballroom before she spotted something lying on the wall of the veranda. 

The satchel of John’s papers, tied with a blue bow. The story of his past, a past he didn’t understand. 

She thought for a second, then snatched them up and ran to find her friend, Lord Mickey Smith.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose discovers the meaning of the papers John left behind at the ball.

Rose looked down at the papers in her hand, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“And you’re _quite_ sure, Mickey?” she asked. 

“As sure as is possible to be,” he responded. “I took it to the university and had one of the professors there translate it.”

She flipped through the papers, coming again to the handwritten missive bearing the translated words. It was too good to be true. It had to be some kind of hoax. It couldn’t be-

“Rose?” came from the direction of the hall, and she quickly shuffled the papers and hid them away. “Where is that idiot girl…”

“I’m in here, Stepmother!” Rose returned. She stood, and Mickey also got to his feet. 

“There you are,” Cassandra said as she breezed in. “Oh, and Lord Marbury is here, too. Charming.”

Her voice dripped with disdain, but Rose was too excited by the papers she’d just held to care. 

“Did you need something, Stepmother? Perhaps you’d like to join us for tea? Ianto has just gone to fetch us some.”

“No, no.” Cassandra waved a dismissive hand. “I shouldn’t wish to disturb you and your… _friend_.”

Rose felt Mickey stiffen beside her, but he didn’t say anything. 

Cassandra went on. “I only came by to tell you that Lord Batcroft will be joining us for dinner tonight. He plans to make his intentions known at that time. I expect you to look and act the part of a gracious lady worthy of him.”

Rose felt revulsion and anger roiling within her, but didn’t rise to her Stepmother’s words. “Yes, Stepmother.”

“Very well. That is all,” she dismissed them and left the room.

Mickey waited until she was gone, then spoke up. “I won’t let that blighter have you, Rose. I’ll marry you myself before I let him touch you.”

“We have to work quickly,” Rose replied, turning to him. “Mickey, I hate to ask you, you’ve done so much already. But could you do one more favor for me?”

“For you? Anything.”

Rose laid her hand on Mickey’s. “Thank you. You’re a dear friend.”

Then she scurried to the writing desk in the corner and jotted down a message. 

@}------>\------

John looked around the room that had been his home for the last three years, feeling dismal. He would have to leave soon, he knew. He could no longer encroach upon Clara’s kindness when he didn’t have a job, and his funds were running low. 

The very thought of leaving made him sick. He’d had to give up one home before, and now he was having to do it again. River had been the only family he’d ever known, but now he considered Clara and Jack almost as close as River had been. He would be incredibly sad to leave them. 

But none of the grief he felt for leaving his friends compared to the ineffable sadness he felt when he knew he’d never see Dame Rose again. He’d almost kissed her. He’d been so close to kissing her, then the bloody clock had struck midnight and stolen the chance from him. He wondered if she would remember him, if she would think of him, if she would miss him. He knew that _she_ would never be far away from _his_ thoughts, not even for a moment. He would love her until the end of time, without any doubt.

He hadn’t taken the medallion off since the night of the ball, nearly a fortnight ago. Rose had touched it, she’d held it in her hand, and he was helpless to do anything but wear it close to his own heart. It was all he would have left of her.

Lord Batcroft had been in just the night before, bragging about how he was finally going to marry “the little wench” and be done with it, then stick her on an estate to the north where he never had to fuss with her unless he wanted to. John, who prided himself on being non-violent, had had to restrain himself from knocking the Lord unconscious. Rose deserved so much better. She deserved joy and happiness and...and love.

A knock came at the door, startling him from his thoughts, and he went to open it. On the other side of the door stood Clara, with an odd look on her face. 

“Clara? Are you alright?”

“I’m well,” she said, still looking flushed. “There is someone here to see you. They’re waiting in the tavern.”

“Jack?”

Clara shook her head. “No, although he’s there, too. It’s Mickey Smith, Lord Marbury.” 

John narrowed his eyes. “What does Lord Marbury want with me?”

Clara’s eyes twinkled. “I think you’d better come find out.”

@}------>\------

John followed Clara down the steps of the inn and into the tavern, spotting Jack sitting at a table with a dark-skinned man he wasn’t familiar with. When Jack saw John enter the tavern, he stood and the other man got to his feet as well. 

“John,” Jack began, extending his arm in welcome, “I’d like to introduce you to Mickey Smith, Lord Marbury. He’s a friend of Dame Rose’s.”

He was startled, but offered his hand anyway. “John Smythe.”

“Yes,” Mickey said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You have?” 

“I have.”

Jack spoke up as the three sat down. “Mickey has a message from you, from Rose.”

“You do?” John’s eyes lit up, only to feel his hopes dashed again. It was likely a goodbye, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to read it. 

Mickey pulled a folded scrap of paper out of his pocket and handed it to John. He debated for a moment before he opened it. He scanned the paper and felt his jaw drop. 

“What’s it say?” Jack demanded. 

John didn’t answer him, just looked up at Mickey instead. “I’d like to bring Jack, in case there’s trouble.”

“Understood,” Mickey nodded. “There might be.”

John gave the other man a searching look, then turned to Jack. “We have to go. Dame Rose wants to see me, says she has something to tell me.”

@}----->\------

Ianto opened the door for the three men and stepped aside to let them enter. He seemed to be expecting them, a suspicion which was confirmed when he led them directly to a parlor. “I’ll let Dame Rose know you’ve arrived.”

Jack and Mickey sat on the well-apportioned and elegant furniture, but John was too tense to sit. He paced around the room, running his hands through his hair, tension coiling every muscle within him.

“John!”

He turned abruptly at the sound of Rose’s voice in time to see her rushing towards him, depositing the parcel she was carrying on a nearby table on her way. He opened his arms to her automatically and she rushed into them, throwing her arms around his waist and squeezing him tight. He held her close, bending his head and allowing himself to press a chaste kiss to the top of her head.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she murmured.

“So did I.”

Mickey cleared his throat from the couch, and Rose jumped back from him as if she’d just been scalded, giving him a guilty smile. He couldn’t waste time feeling guilty, not with her scent lingering in the air and the feel of her in his arms so fresh. 

“Yes, right,” she said, flushing as she recovered herself. “I have some...information for you, if you’d like to sit?”

John would have jumped over the moon if she’d asked it, sitting down beside her on the couch opposite Mickey and Jack seemed like a small request. So he sat. 

“What’s this about, Dame Rose?”

She picked up the parcel of papers that she’d laid on the table beside her and pulled them into her lap. “You left these,” she began, “on the night of my ball. I found them on the veranda.”

John nodded. “I knew that I’d forgotten them, but didn’t know of any way to come reclaim them without revealing I’d gatecrashed.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to get them back from me,” Rose explained. “I sent them away with Mickey.”

“What? Why?” John was confused.

Mickey stepped in. “I took them to the university and gave them to the professor of languages there. He translated them for me.”

John looked from one of them to the other. “I don’t...I don’t understand. River could never make heads nor tails of that writing!”

“But she did, John,” Rose assured him, putting her hand on his knee. “You never looked at those papers, did you?” He shook his head and Rose opened the little satchel and unfolded the papers, pulling the top sheet of parchment off. “She figured it out. Here.” Rose handed him the paper and he began to read.

_My dearest John,_  
_By the time you read this, I will be gone. My fondest wish has always been for your happiness and well-being, and it is with that in mind that I am writing this letter, and posting it to Clara Oswald, to whom I will send you._  
_Several years ago, I solved the riddle of the cyphers inscribed on the papers you carried on the day I found you. For some reason that I don’t recall now, I was recalcitrant to tell you just what they meant. I decided it would be better for you to go out and experience the world before you were burdened with the knowledge those papers brought. I had always planned on telling you at the right moment in your life, but when this illness began and I realized I would likely not be alive for that moment, I forwarded them into the care of my friend with instructions for her to await the moment, instructing her that the contents of this letter would change your life forever, and trusting that she would know when the right time to inform you would be._  
_If you are reading this, Clara must have determined that you are ready for this knowledge, and I trust her judgment implicitly._  
_John Smythe, you were born in the kingdom of Gallifrey, the beloved only son of the king and queen. When you were yet a child, Gallifrey was attacked by the neighboring kingdom, Skaro, and a mighty war ensued. Your mother and father were desperate to protect you from Davros, king of the nation of Skaro, so they had their history written down for a later time and your memory erased by a hypnotist. That done, they had you taken to a province that was untouched by the misery of war and had you left there with the history of Gallifrey in a satchel and your royal birth certificate around your neck. Once you were gone, they grieved you as if you had died, taking comfort only in the knowledge that you were safe and out of Davros’ hands._  
_You are a prince, my son, the rightful heir to Gallifrey. The medallion you wear verifies the truth of this claim, and the papers in this satchel are additional proof. It is my hope that someday, despite your determination never to look back, you will make an exception and look backwards on your first home, to reclaim the throne you were forced to run away from._  
_I am so proud of you, John. I never could have asked for a better son, and Gallifrey will be blessed under your rule._  
_With love,_  
_River Song_

John stared at the paper in his hands blankly. “This can’t be right,” he breathed. 

“It _is_ right,” Rose insisted. “Mickey, tell him.”

“It’s true, your highness.” John gave a start at the words, but just blinked stupidly at Mickey. “Professor Ross at the University translated every word. It’s the history of your country, of your birthright. He even sketched out for me what a royal birth certificate would look like. Rose?”

Rose rifled through the papers until she got to the one she wanted, then handed it to John. He studied it, eyes wide and shocked. It was a perfect image of the medallion around his neck. To be sure, he pulled the medallion out of his shirt and held the two side-by-side. They matched exactly.

“I don’t…”

“Your family still lives, John,” Rose said in a gentle voice, laying her hand on his. “They looked for you for years before they decided you must have died.”

“But...Skaro…”

“Was defeated,” Mickey said simply. “Although there was much devastation to your home land, eventually the invading army was turned back. Your parents came to regret sending you away.”

“My parents…” he began, then looked over at Rose. “I have parents?”

She smiled indulgently. “You do. You have a family and a name. You’re the Prince of Gallifrey.”

“But that means…I can...we can…” She blushed and he took her hand. “Dame Rose Tyler, would you-”

Cassandra’s loud screech interrupted him. “What is that _filth_ doing touching Rose?! Ianto! Get him out! And the cretins with him!” She dashed into the room with Lord Batcroft right behind her, looking thunderous.

Rose shot to her feet, “Stepmother…”

“I’ve had enough of _you_ , you insolent little brat!”

“But Stepmother -”

“No! You are to marry Lord Batcroft as soon as he’ll take you off my hands, and maybe he’ll beat some sense into you!”

“Oh, I will,” Jimmy said, darkly. “I’ll make sure she never leaves my estate.”

John shot to his feet. “Like hell you will.”

Jimmy reached out and grabbed Rose by the arm, jerking her to him. She protested, pushing against his chest, and he growled at her. “Leave off, you manky slag. I’ll teach you.” He raised his hand and slapped her across the face. 

Jack was on his feet in an instant, pulling Rose back and out of danger. John had Lord Batcroft pinned to the wall by his neck in the space of a heartbeat. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands and your insults off Rose.”

Jimmy scoffed at him, even as John’s hand pressed into the skin of his neck. “You’ve done it now, you twat. You’ve assaulted a member of the gentry. You’ll hang for this.”

Cassandra was shrieking for Ianto to fetch the guards, Jack and Mickey were shouting at him to let Jimmy Stone go, but he heard none of it. The Oncoming Storm swirled within his eyes, and he was prepared to commit an act of violence for the first time in his life. It would be so easy, with the arrogant lord smirking down at him. Just so easy.

Above the din, he heard his name from the voice he loved most in the world. “John,” Rose said softly, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

John let him go, the Storm swirling in his eyes, and took a step back. He reached his hand behind him and was gratified when Rose took it immediately. “That’s not applicable to me.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Jimmy gave a mirthless laugh. “I’ll see you hanged for this. Rose, let’s go. Now! Enough of this. I’m taking you to the church right now!”

“M’not going. M’staying with John.”

“I said _now_ , Rose!” Jimmy demanded. Rose shook her head.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Cassandra spat. “You will go with Lord Batcroft now and speak your vows or I will drag you there myself!”

“You’ll do no such thing,” John said in a deadly calm voice, his hand squeezing Rose’s. “She _will_ stay with me, Mrs. Tyler, until she chooses to leave. In fact, if you would oversee the packing of her things, we’ll be taking off immediately.”

Cassandra scoffed. “Where does a commoner like you presume to take my daughter?”

“To her new home, if she’ll have it.” Rose let out a little gasp and he turned to her, his eyes softening. “I don’t know what we’ll find there, but I know I want you by my side. Is that...is that alright?”

Rose nodded, a tear slipping from her eye and falling towards her brilliant smile. He beamed at her. 

Jimmy had recovered sufficiently enough for Mickey and Jack to release him. He stepped away, shaking out his arms that had been restrained, and stepped towards Rose. “I’ve had enough of this! Rose, let’s go. We’re getting married, _now_!”

“I think you’ll remember, Lord Batcroft,” Rose told him in a steely voice, “that I never agreed to marry you.”

“I don’t need your agreement, you little bint!” He lunged for her again, but Rose stepped behind John and he shielded her with his body, Mickey and Jack coming to flank him. 

John narrowed his eyes at Jimmy. “If you lay one finger on a member of the Royal Family of Gallifrey, I’ll make certain it’s the last thing you ever do.”

“Gallifrey?” Jimmy asked, confused while Cassandra gasped.

“You’re not,” she said with wide eyes from behind her hands.

“I am,” John confirmed. “I am the Prince of Gallifrey, and Rose shall be its Princess, as soon as we are wed.”

A switch flipped in Cassandra and she was immediately solicitous. “Oh, Rose! How lovely! A princess in the family.”

John, Jack and Mickey closed ranks and kept Cassandra from getting near her stepdaughter. 

“Let me pass, that’s my daughter.”

“ _Step_ daughter,” Rose corrected, stepping around the men to face down her stepmother. “And I believe the Prince told you to set about packing my things.”

“But Rose -” 

“And know this, Stepmother...you may live in this home as long as you like, it is your home as well. But you have never been a mother to me, and I never want to see you again. And Lord Batcroft,” she turned to Jimmy, “my manners dictate that I must bid you a farewell. So here it is: sod off.”

Jack let out a whoop of laughter and John settled his arm around Rose. 

“On second thought, Lady Tyler, please just forward Rose’s belongings to Gallifrey. We’ll be sending someone to pick it up shortly.”

Ianto, who had been standing silent as a sentinel at the entry to the room, stepped forward. “Milady, if you’d like, I can accompany you to your room so that you may pack a couple of gowns for the trip.”

Rose looked up at John, who nodded down at her. “Go,” he encouraged her with a kiss to the forehead. “Get what you need, love. I’ll be waiting.”

Ianto extended a hand for Rose after giving John a quick, subtle nod, and as he walked away with Rose in the corridor, John heard Ianto call for a guard to come escort Lord Batcroft from the premises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, okay, so I ripped off the 'royal birth certificate' idea off from Spaceballs. Guilty as charged.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue.

A messenger was dispatched as the small band of travellers left Powell, gone ahead to inform the King and Queen of Gallifrey that their lost son was returning, wearing his birth certificate and with a bride in tow. The messenger met them on the road three days later with a full royal coach and the King’s fastest horses. John, Rose, Clara and Jack made the rest of the trip to their new home in luxury. 

The royal coach rode into the capital city of Gallifrey through a parade. John was overwhelmed by the attention, but Rose seemed to take it in stride. It made him love her all the more.

Jack, of course, lavished in the attentions of the Gallifreyans and left several swooning women behind. Clara slapped one gentleman for copping a feel. The rude townsperson in question was hauled away while a handsome guard named Danny checked on her well-being. 

The carriage pulled up to the Citadel and guards rushed forward to open the doors. John and Jack disembarked, holding out their hands for Rose and Clara. 

A silver-haired woman at the top of the stairs by the door let out a cry. 

_”Theta!”_

Something sparked in John’s memory, and he looked up at the voice, spotting a man and woman in royal robes rushing down the stairs towards him. 

Memories flooded him, all of the fourteen lost years of his life coming back in a barrage of images and recollections. Playing in the courtyard with the children of the royal court. Hours spent learning with tutors, feeling that he’d never be able to learn everything he wanted to know. And a woman’s voice, singing to him, telling him that she was doing her best for him and that she loved him. A warm, firm hand on his shoulder telling John that he was proud, and he was sure that John would make Gallifrey proud, calling him ‘son’.

John looked up the stairs at the man and woman running down and recognized them at once. His mother and father. 

He caught his mother up in a huge hug, pulling her as close as he could, letting the tears fall. Immediately, he felt the strong arms of his father encircling them both. 

John was home. 

@}----->\-----

The King had ordered a two-week celebration in honor of the return of his lost son, then ordered another two week celebration a month later on the occasion of that son marrying and bringing a daughter into his family. 

John Smythe, also known as Theta Sigma, Prince of Gallifrey, married Dame Rose Tyler of Powell six weeks after their arrival. The kingdom rejoiced along with the royal family, and most saw this turn of events as nothing short of a miracle, certainly a good omen of things to come after decades of heartbreak for the King and Queen. 

John and Rose stood on the balcony of the palace, waving at the crowd below, both beaming happily. 

“John?” Rose asked.

“Yes, love?”

“Do you remember when you said that you chose the title ‘sir’ because you wanted to be my equal?”

John chuckled. “I do.”

Rose gestured to the crowd below. “I think you may have been wrong.”

“Oh, I know I was,” he told her, taking her hand and turning her towards him. “No title, no kingdom, no amount of fanfare could ever make me worthy of you, Princess Rose. But I promise to try.”

Then, to the delight of the crowd below, he brought his lips down to her and sealed his promise with a kiss. 

_**AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this story has certainly been a journey! I hope you liked it! Thank you for all of your comments and kudos...every single one has been appreciated!!!


End file.
